Аманда Хокинг - Torn

I missed him.

Aurora came out of the parlor just before we reached it. Her normally flawless skin had gone gray. Her dark eyes were glossed over, and her hair hung in unruly waves around her face. She leaned up against the wall, supporting herself, and she struggled to catch her breath.

“Marksinna?” Finn quickly went to her, putting his arm around her to steady her.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m only tired,” Aurora said as Finn helped her to a chair in the hallway. She moved like an old woman, and her bones creaked as she eased herself down in the chair. “Will you get my son? I need to lie down, and I want him to help me home.”

“Yes, of course,” Finn said, and he gave me an apologetic look. “Princess, will you be alright seeing the Queen alone?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Go get Tove. I’ll be fine.”

Finn hurried away to retrieve Tove for his mother, and I went on to the room. I felt guilty for leaving Aurora alone in the hallway, looking so completely drained, but I had my own mother to attend to.

The door to the parlor was still open, and I stayed in the hall for a moment, watching.

Elora lay on her chaise lounge, the way she had when I arrived, but she had a black fur blanket over her. Her raven hair had gone even whiter, so it now appeared to be white streaked with black and not the other way around. Her eyes were closed, and the blood had been wiped from her face.

Garrett had pulled up a chair so he sat right next to her head. He held one of her hands in both of his, and gazed at her with worry and adoration. His tousled hair was even more unkempt than normal, and some of her blood stained his shirt.

On the other side of the chaise lounge, Thomas stood keeping watch. He had the same stoic stance all the trackers did when they were on guard duty, but his eyes rested heavily on Elora. They weren’t filled with the same intensity as Garrett, but something glimmered in them, some faint reminder of whatever had transpired between Thomas and Elora years ago.

When she opened her eyes, it was Thomas that Elora looked up at. Garrett’s jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, but he said nothing. He didn’t even drop her hand.

“Elora?” I said timidly and stepped inside the room.

“Princess.” Her voice sounded weak, and she made a poor attempt at a smile.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

“Yes.” She tried to sit up, but Garrett gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Elora, you need to rest,” Garrett told her.

“I am fine.” She waved him off but lowered herself back down. “I need to speak privately with my daughter. Can you both leave us for a moment?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Thomas bowed. “But for your sake, please take it easy.”

“Of course, Thomas.” She offered him a tired smile, and he bowed again before leaving.

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me,” Garrett said but he was hesitant to stand. He wouldn’t even walk towards the door until Elora glared at him. “If you need anything, call for me. Or send the Princess. Okay?”

“If it will get you to leave quicker, I will agree to anything,” Elora sighed.

Garrett paused as he passed me, and he looked like he wanted to say something, probably reminding me to take it easy. Elora said his name, and he hurried along. He closed the door behind him, and I took his seat next to Elora.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I’ve been better, obviously.” She readjusted the blanket over her, getting more comfortable on the chaise. “But I will live to fight another day, and that’s what matters.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Why did you just collapse?”

“How old do you think I am?” Elora asked and looked right at me, so her eyes met mine. A few days ago, they’d been almost black, but now they had the gray haze of cataracts.

Her age was a hard question to answer. When I’d first met her, I’d have pegged she was in her fifties. A very beautiful fifty, but even then, she’d had an aged quality under her stunning features.

Now laying on the chaise, frail and tired, Elora looked even older than that. But I didn’t want to say that to her, of course.

“Um… forty, maybe?” I guessed low.

“You’re kind, and a bad liar.” She pushed herself up, so she was sitting up a bit.

“That’s something you’ll need to work on. The horrible reality is that being a leader involves a lot of lying.”

“I’ll practice my poker face later,” I said. “You look good, though, if that’s what you’re asking. Just tired and rundown.”

“I am tired and rundown,” Elora admitted wearily. “And I’m only thirty-nine.”

“Thirty-nine what?” I asked, confused, and she propped her head on her hand so she could look at me.

“Thirty-nine years old,” she said, smiling wider. “You seem shocked. I don’t blame you. Although, I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner. I told you that I married your father when I was very young. I had you when I was twenty-one.”

“But…” I stammered. “Is that what’s wrong with you? Are you aging too fast?”

“Not exactly.” She pursed her lips. “It’s the price we pay for our abilities. When we use them, they drain us and age us.”

“All the stuff you do - like the mindspeak and holding Loki prisoner - that’s killing you?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so,” she nodded.

“Then why do it?” I wanted to shout at her, but I kept my voice as even as I could.

“I can understand defending yourself, but calling Finn with mindspeak? Why would you do something if it’s killing you?”

“The mindspeak doesn’t use as much.” Elora waved it off. “The things that are really draining I only do when I have to, like housing a prisoner. But what uses it the most is the precognitive painting, and that I can’t control.”

I glanced at the several paintings Elora had leaned up against the windows.

Across the hall, Elora had a locked room filled with these paintings.

“What do you mean you can’t control it?” I asked. “Just don’t do it.”

“I can’t see the visions, but they fill my head.” She gestured to her forehead. “It’s an agonizing blackness that takes over until I paint and get them out. I can’t stop them from coming, and it’s too painful to ignore them. I would go insane if I tried to keep them all inside.”

“But it’s killing you.” I slumped in the chair. “Why even teach other Trylle how to use the abilities? If it means you’ll grow weak and old.”

“That’s the price,” she sighed. “We go mad if we don’t use them, we age if we do.

The more powerful we are, the more cursed we are.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’ll go crazy if I stop?”

“I don’t really know what will happen to you.” Elora rested her chin on her hand, eyeing me up. “You’re your father’s daughter, too.”

“What?” I shook my head. “You mean because I have Vittra blood, too?”

“Precisely,” she nodded.

“Tove told me about them. He said they’re very strong, but I’m not strong.” I remembered all the fights I’d been in throughout my illustrious school career, and I’d taken a beating as often as I’d given one. “I’m not like that.”

“Some are physically strong, yes,” Elora clarified. “That Loki Staad, I believe, is very strong. If I recall correctly, he could lift a grand piano by the time he could walk.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that.”

“Oren isn’t that way. He is…” She trailed off, thinking. “You met him. How old you do think he is?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “A few years younger than you, maybe.”

“When I married him, he was seventy-six, and that was twenty years ago,” Elora said.